Well, I wasn't going to die. You didn't die of a broken heart, it just felt like you were going to. I knew from personal experience that if you just kept moving, acting as if you weren't bleeding inside, you didn't die, and eventually you stopped wanting to.
Micah came to stand in front of me. Once it had seemed odd to have such serious intelligence out of kitty-cat eyes. Now, they were just Micah's eyes. He touched my face, and his hand was so warm that I wanted to rub my cheek against it, but I didn't. I don't know why, but I didn't. I just stood there with Micah touching my face and Damian clinging to my hand. I could feel that my face was as empty as I felt inside.
"You don't have to go in there," Micah said.
"Yes," I said, "I do."
He put his other hand up, so that he framed my face between his warm, warm hands. "No, Anita, you don't have to."
Damian was rubbing his fingers across my knuckles the way he did when he was worried that I would be angry with someone. I wasn't angry, or maybe he was worried about another emotion all together. Damian could help me be calmer, help me control my temper, and be less ruthless, or less quick to kill, but your servant can only give you what they have to share. Damian could not help me fight fear, or loneliness, or sorrow, because he carried too much of it inside himself. Today, the only real comfort he could offer was the touch of a friendly hand. But there are worse things to offer.
I closed my eyes, not to hide from Micah's serious face, but to bask in the warmth of his hands. I had to close my eyes so I could feel his hands and not be distracted by the color of his eyes. I let myself do what I'd wanted to do since he touched my face. I rubbed my cheek against first one of his hands, then the other. His hands moved with me, so that it was like a dance, his hands against my face, my hair, and me rubbing against him cat-like.
He kissed me somewhere in all that movement, with my face writhing between his hands. His lips were soft and full, and he pressed them against mine, firm but gentle. I opened my eyes to his face so close I couldn't focus on his eyes.
He drew back enough so we could see each other, but kept my face between his hands. "I would spare you this, if you'd let me."
I put my hands over both of his, so that we held each other. "You mean make my apologies for me, and Damian and I go hide out in the bedroom?"
Someone had propped the front door back into place. The door hung crooked in the frame, and a little light leaked around the edges, but it wasn't bad. Damian had grabbed at my shoulder at the first line of light that crawled across the floor. I'd patted his hand, but didn't know what else to do. Micah informed us that he'd shut the drapes in the kitchen, so it was as dim as he could make it. I'd smiled at him for that. He always seemed to anticipate my wants. Sometimes it bugged me, but not today. Today, I'd take all the help I could get.
Damian would have been the perfect excuse to hang out in a darker part of the house. Unfortunately, almost as much as I didn't want to see Richard, I didn't want to be alone with Damian. Men can be sort of funny after you've had sex with them, some get downright possessive, others get emotional, and still others just want a chance to do it again. None of that sounded like something I wanted to deal with right that minute. Sure he felt calm against my skin, but that didn't mean that once we were alone he'd be able to stop himself from being male. After all he was one. I just wasn't willing to risk it.
"If you have to look at it that way, yes."
"It's not that I have to look at it that way, Micah, it's the way it is. It would be hiding out."
"She won't hide," Nathaniel said, voice soft and full of sorrow that I couldn't understand, and just the sound in his voice made me glad at that moment that we weren't touching. Whatever he was feeling didn't sound fun in the least.
"Isn't discretion ever the better part of valor with you?" Micah asked, and there was a look in his eyes that was close to pain. But strangely, of all the men in my life, he was one of the few whose mind and emotions I couldn't read. I could read his face, his eyes, his body, but his mind and internal emotions were his own.
"No," I said, "never. Well, almost never." I patted his hands and stepped back just enough so that he had to let me go, or hold on when he knew I didn't want him to.
He let his hands fall away from me, and the first hint of anger trickled into his eyes. "I don't like seeing you hurt."
"I don't like seeing me hurt either," I said.
That almost made him smile. "Trying to make jokes, I guess that's a good sign."
"Trying, only trying? I thought it was funny."
"No," Nathaniel said, "no, it wasn't." He squeezed my arm as he walked by. "I'll get the coffee started."
"You're not going to wait for us?" I asked.
He turned back just short of the kitchen doorway. He was smiling. "I know you'll get in here, eventually, because you couldn't stand yourself if you chickened out. But, by the time you talk yourself into it, I could already have coffee made."
I frowned at him, and just a tiny thread of anger came with it.
Damian grabbed for my hand again, and I didn't fight it.
"Don't get mad at me," Nathaniel said, "I'm about to grind fresh coffee beans for you and use the new French press Jean-Claude got you."
I frowned harder.
"I know how much you hate to admit that you like the French press, but you do like it."
"It doesn't make enough coffee at one time," I said. Even to me it sounded churlish.
"I'll tell Jean-Claude that you would like a really, really big French press." He said it completely deadpan, and only the faintest of smiles and the tiniest gleam in his eyes let me know he was going to add something. "Size queen," then he was through the door, before I could close my mouth and decide whether to yell at him, or laugh.
23
Nathaniel's attempt to make me laugh accomplished one thing; it made me feel better, though I have to admit the smell of freshly ground coffee helped lure me through the door. I couldn't let one ex-fiancé stand between me and my coffee, could I? Not and keep my self-respect, so in we went.
Richard was sitting at the kitchen table on the side nearest the door. Dr. Lillian was standing over him finishing the bandaging of his entire right shoulder and arm. She glanced at us as we came through the door, but most of her attention stayed on her patient. The first time I'd met her she'd been gray and furry, but now she was a woman of about fifty, slender, with hair as gray and white as her fur was when she was in rat form. There was always something neat about Dr. Lillian, as if her clothes never got too dirty and she always had medical supplies when she needed them. She never seemed to panic. In the human world, she was head of one of the few local emergency trauma centers that had survived the cutbacks. But she spent more and more time helping the semi-permanently furry. Since Marcus had died, we were really short on doctors.
Which explained why there was a bodyguard leaning on the other side of the doorway watching us move into the room. He was slender, a little shy of six feet, though something about the way he stood made him seem shorter. A tangle of black hair fell into his eyes, and they glittered like black jewels from that fall of hair. His graceful hands caressed the edges of his leather jacket, and I caught glimpses of at least four knife hilts before he let the jacket fall closed. There might have been six hilts, but I was sure of four, and that was plenty.
I'd been told the wererats were here, plural, but I hadn't thought about it. Hadn't really heard it. I'd been so busy not seeing Richard, that I hadn't really looked at the room. I'd strapped on a knife and my gun, but I might as well have been unarmed for all the good they would have done me, if Fredo had meant me harm. I hadn't seen him. He'd been standing just inside the door, opposite the side I came through, and I hadn't seen him. Shit.
I managed to keep it off my face. I nodded to Fredo; he nodded back. I wanted to say something, but I didn't trust my voice. I was thinking, Stupid, stupid. And that kind of stupid could get me killed.
Nathaniel was at the back of the kitch
en by the sink, under the window that we'd once had to replace because of shotgun damage. The window was fine now, but I wasn't. I lived in a world where I had to see the bad guys. Fredo was on our side, but he was definitely a bad guy. Not a bad guy that would kill me, but one that could, and I'd walked into the room right past him. It was a rookie mistake that let me know just how badly I was doing.
I kept walking until I stood beside Nathaniel with our backs to the room. Damian trailed me like a lost puppy that had found a likely handout. I'd let go of his hand when I realized I hadn't seen Fredo, when I'd felt the movement of Fredo behind me. I wanted my hands free. I knew that Damian needed to touch me, but I needed my hands free. I was feeling claustrophobic. The kitchen's a good-sized room. When the curtains are open it's bright and shiny, but with the curtains shut and the overhead lights on, it was dim and shadowy, and I wanted light. I wanted to step out on the deck and watch the trees with the morning light on them. I didn't want to stand here in the dark and hold the vampire's hand. I wanted a choice, and I didn't seem to have any. I was suddenly so angry, and it wasn't Damian I was mad at.
The far drapes moved, and Clair came back in from the deck, all smiles. "It's a wonderful view."
"Thanks," I said, and went back to watching Nathaniel make coffee. If I just kept not looking anywhere else, maybe I wouldn't let my anger get the best of me. I wanted to rant at Richard, to scream and accuse. And I so did not want to do that in front of his new girlfriend or my boyfriends. Did I just say boyfriends ?
I put my hands on the coolness of the counter, closed my eyes, and just tried not to think again. Not thinking was good. Not feeling was better.
A hand laid itself over mine, and the moment it did, I was calmer. I knew without opening my eyes who it was, because only one man's touch calmed me. Calmed me because he'd spent centuries perfecting his calmness. I opened my eyes and met Damian's green gaze. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to be furious at being trapped with him, tied, but I couldn't be. With him touching my hand, with his eyes so ready to fill with pain, I couldn't be angry, not with him. Shit.
I couldn't breathe, not a good solid breath. He took my anger, but he couldn't take the fear. I jerked away from him. "I need to be angry right now, Damian, it's all I've got."
A hand touched my arm, and I jerked away from it. Nathaniel's eyes were cautious rather than hurt. "What's wrong?"
I moved back from both of them, bumping up against the island hard enough that the dishes rattled in the cabinets.
"Anita." Micah's voice. He was at the end of the island looking at me with his serious kitty-cat eyes.
I couldn't seem to get a deep enough breath. It was as if the room was getting smaller. Nathaniel was in front of me, and either side of the island was blocked by the other two. I felt cornered, trapped in so many ways.
"Boys," Dr. Lillian said, "I think Anita needs a little air."
"I can't leave Damian alone," I said, but my voice sounded choked.
She came and moved them all away from me, shooing them back. "Come on, a little fresh air and some open spaces, doctor's orders." She held out her hand to me, but was careful not to touch me, as if she knew what I was feeling better than I did. She eased me to the drapes and pushed me through them onto the open deck.
The light was dazzling, and I was blind with it for a moment. When I could see again, she was as far away as the wraparound deck would allow her to be and still be on it. She didn't say anything, just looked out at the view.
I started to say something, then thought, Fuck it, she's right. I went to the rail and looked out at the trees. The trees were a kaleidoscope of color. The wind stirred all that gold and orange, and a cascade of leaves like an upturned bag of gold showered down around me. The sky was that flawless blue that only happens here in October, as if the sky were closer, fresher, newly minted blue, as if all the clear skies until now had been practice for these few weeks of blue, blue sky. I breathed in the heavy gold of the sun, like pale syrup on the leaves. It smelled like autumn, that crisp, clean, sharp smell, that is made up of dying leaves, chill nights, and the warm breath of the day before night falls. You could taste fall on your tongue like some kind of bread or cake, something thick and nutty and sweet. I took in as much air as I could and let it out slow, as if my body didn't want to let it go.
I stood there leaning on the railing, drinking in the sunlight, the colors, and the rich scent of autumn woods. I was smiling and calm all on my own by the time Dr. Lillian spoke. She stayed on her end of the deck, as if she wasn't sure how much room I needed. "Feel better?"
"Yes," and I smiled at her, though I felt a little embarrassed. "Sorry that I lost it in there."
"You've had some big changes in a very short space of time, Anita."
"How much do you know?"
"That you've somehow tied yourself to Damian and Nathaniel, somewhat the way that Jean-Claude tied you and Richard to him. That you did it by accident. That it's a miracle no one's dead."
I sighed, and the smile was gone. "Yeah, I could have handled it better."
"No one could handle all that you handle, Anita, better or worse. You keep surprising all of us."
"Us, who?" I asked.
She smiled. "All of us, the shapeshifters, the vampires, all of us. I can't really speak for everybody, but I know you are a constant amazement to the wererats. We never know what you're going to do next." She leaned against the rail with her arms crossed over her clean white shirt.
"Neither do I, not anymore."
"That loss of control issue again, isn't it?"
"You know, I really don't want to psychoanalyze myself right now."
"Fine," she raised her hands as if to show she was unarmed, "but the next time you start getting claustrophobic, and you need some air, get some air, okay?"
"It was that obvious?" I asked.
"If I say yes, you won't like it, because you hate for anyone to be able to read you. If I say no, I'd be lying, and you hate that, too."
"I'm just impossible to get along with, aren't I?"
"Not impossible, but not exactly easy either." She gave a small laugh to soften it, and said, "Do you feel up to going back inside?"
I took another deep breath and nodded. "Sure."
She nodded, too. "Good, be careful when you move the drapes. Don't want to flash too much of this beautiful sun onto Damian."
I nodded and felt the good air leaving me. Before I stepped back through the sliding glass doors, I was wondering, what was I going to do with him? I couldn't keep touching him all day. Could I? I was willing to do it up to a point, but all day would drive me mad. Especially if it was not just today, but every day. I suddenly saw an endless stream of days with Damian permanently attached to me. It was claustrophobic.
I half expected him to leech onto me when I came through the door, but he didn't. I stood there in the sudden dimness of the curtained kitchen, letting my eyes adjust. My eyes automatically turned to where Richard had been, but I forced myself to look for Fredo first. He'd moved closer like a good bodyguard, leaning against the small two-seater table in the breakfast nook. The white roses that Jean-Claude sent every week framed Fredo's darkness. His fingers were tracing the edges of his jacket again. I'd never seen Fredo use his knives, but something told me that he'd get to his blades faster than I'd get to my gun, not to mention my knife. The back sheath was really an emergency backup, not a main weapon. If I'd wanted a blade as a main weapon, I'd have put on the wrist sheaths.
I eased into the room away from Fredo, not because he meant me harm, but simply on principle. I wasn't at my best, and he was the only professional bad guy in the room, so I treated him with the caution he deserved. Besides, I had to redeem my earlier stupidity somehow, and the days when I would have picked a fight just to reassure myself I was still tough were long ago and far away. Being a girl, that phase had been shorter anyway. We are much more practical creatures than men, as a general rule.
Richard was still at the table. Clair was
beside him now. She had a hand on his good shoulder, her small hand very pale against the darkness of his skin. She was watching me. Her eyes were blue, a dark sort of gray blue, but blue nonetheless.
Micah stood at the side of the island closest to the table. He seemed tense, but it was a flicker of his eyes that helped me find Damian and Nathaniel.
The vampire had wedged himself into the corner between the cabinets and the sink. He was holding his knees tight to his chest, his face resting on them, so that he could hide his eyes. He'd managed to hide almost all of himself in the blue velvet dressing gown and the fall of his own hair. Nathaniel was beside him on the floor. He was touching Damian's hands, but that was all.
Nathaniel looked up at me, and there was something in his violet eyes, pain, helplessness, something. I wasn't mad anymore, and I didn't feel claustrophobic as I crossed the kitchen to them. I knelt on the other side of Damian and looked a question at Nathaniel. "I thought my touch might help him until you got back inside."
I nodded. It sounded logical.
"He didn't want me to touch him much." He wasn't hurt when he said it, it was just a fact.
I touched Damian's bowed head. His hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist. The movement had been too fast to see, which didn't happen often to me with vamps, and shouldn't have happened with this one. The speed of it, and the strength in his hand made me gasp.
He raised up and gave me the full look of those emerald eyes. I was suddenly struck by the sheer beauty of him. It was almost a physical force. As if beauty were a hammer and I'd taken a hit directly between the eyes.
"My God," Nathaniel whispered.
It took more effort than was pretty for me to tear my glance away from Damian. Once I saw Nathaniel's face it was easier, and I could breathe again. "Do you see it, too?" I asked.
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